


Describe Yourself in Five Words

by gimmeshellder



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Polyamory, dating apps, gender feelings, no dates though all fambly feelings, somewhere between CYM and the movie, you can tell Amethyst showing Pearl how to use her phone is one of my favorite scenes of all time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 19:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20626532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmeshellder/pseuds/gimmeshellder
Summary: Playing the field usually isn't a team sport, but Pearl benefits from some coaching. (Or: the gems help Pearl with her dating profile.)





	Describe Yourself in Five Words

**Author's Note:**

> ONE THOUSAND BLOOD DEBTS to [ TheBlindBandit ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlindBandit/) for tireless beta-ing, jamming, and endless insights as a pro bono representative of Pearl Voice Consultants (LLC) (raised hands emoji) Pearl's tricky to write but they always crush it!!!!!!

It begins mostly because Pearl’s room presents so many water hazards, which sincerely, she should not consider _ hazards, _but technology has a way of changing what one thinks. So to avoid the risk of water damage, Pearl elects to continue orienting herself with her phone on the sofa. And that’s exactly where Amethyst ambushes her.

“Ooooh, _DecentVenus,” _she says airily, suddenly, out of _nowhere _above Pearl’s head (who _hurghs!_ and nearly falls to the floorboards). “Whoa, dude. What’s with the guilty face?” She tips herself sideways off the edge of Steven’s floor and slides onto the cushion next to Pearl. “Chill, I ain’t no narc.” 

“Right.” Pearl shoots furtive looks at the front door, the warp pad. “Well. Yes.” Her throat clears. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Amethyst will get in some requisite teasing, likely, but Pearl isn’t doing anything _ wrong. _Her throat clears again and her back straightens. “Yes. I’ve decided to make use of what’s freely available to… to take a look around, as it were.” 

“Right on.” Of the many suggestive gestures she might expect of Amethyst, double pistol fingers aren’t among them. "Any big juicy hotties yet?"

Pearl scoffs, and her eyes roll.

"Whaaat -- so you got a type. Embrace it!"

… Pearl does not deny. As she shifts in her seat, she can feel her cheeks tinge blue. "Well… anyway, I haven't actually finished my profile.”

“Let’s take a look whatcha got.” Amethyst scoots closer until the two of them are side-by-side peering down at Pearl’s phone. The closeness is nice -- and far more frequent than it once was. Amethyst manages to wordlessly weave in and out of Pearl's personal space in a manner both inconceivable as of a year ago and, frankly, comforting. It's been... so, _so_ long since they could do that. Just last week while immersed in a copy _ National Journal of Aerospace Engineering _ on the sofa, Pearl discovered herself idly finger-combing through messy purple hair as Amethyst snored cozily in her lap. She hadn't even noticed her coming in.

(Pearl's smile goes undetected.)

But for now, their hips and shoulders brush. Ameythst gets a clear look at the screen and makes a squelchy sound with her mouth. "Uhhh, your radius is all off -- you’re gonna get folks from like, thousands of miles away.”

"That's not a problem for me." There are plenty of warp pads in multiple areas. And Pearl’s never had an issue traveling on foot.

"Yeah but it is for like, ninety-nine point _ ninininininine _ percent of people. They'll wanna get to know you before committing to something that involves a plane ticket. Or _rocketship._” She reaches to tap the screen a few times, adjusting the distance to one more traversable to the average human. Presumably. “Save yourself some time."

"Oh… " Pearl accepts the phone back, feeling a bit abashed. Always with the human constraints... “Well! Thank you, Amethyst." 

"Chyeah." She collapses back into the cushion with a grin, curling in around Pearl. "What about the rest?"

Her lips purse sideways. As yet untouched are the actual contents of the profile, beginning with_ My Self Summary. _Pearl's so absorbed in how to tackle the prompt that she fails to notice Steven until Amethyst hoots, "Check it out, dude, Pearl's got DecentVenus.”

“Ooh, that’s the one just for women, right?” Steven shimmies up onto the couch at Pearl's other side before she can think to be embarrassed. Sea smells. He was out in the sun too long; he'll have a burn later tonight along his neck.

"Yep_-puh," _ Amethyst pops her lips. "Li'l stuck, though."

Pearl feels herself scowl. "I've gotten some of it!"

It’s not a lie, exactly. Thus far Pearl has completed: 1) the distance radius and 2) her display name (_“Pearl”). _

"It’s a good start, but... ooof." His mouth flattens. "We can't disable the birthdate, huh?"

The cushion sighs underneath Amethyst as she leans back in scrutiny, stroking her chin. "Let's go with like a… thirty? Thirty-five?" 

"_Years?_" Pearl scoffs. 

"You can make a note explaining more in the body text," Steven says, "but by how you look, most people would probably tag you around there."

There's a sinking sensation in her chest. Right. _ Explaining. _ These are all human women, all _ expecting _human women. Pearl grasps that that's how she often registers. But what of the many, many parts of her that don't fit? She could paper the walls of the beach house with the list of them.

Not that it seemed to deter interest. Oh, no. Pearl was unaccustomed to human courtship, but_ not _ unobservant. It was sometimes flattering but more often exasperating to endure overtures from those with no real understanding of what she was. And it only ever seemed to embolden them when -- when Rose would --

”Hey.” A light squeeze on her knee breaks Pearl from her reverie, and she turns to find Amethyst’s look of concern. “You okay?” 

Pearl smiles small and squeezes her knee right back. “What’s made you so sweet lately?” 

“Hey, I _always_ been sweet,” she huffs. The gentle tint in her cheeks doesn’t escape Pearl. “But anyway, c’mon, P. Power through." She smacks one fist into her palm with a mock glower. “Ultra grandma age or nah, you're gonna have to beat ‘em back with a stick."

What on... "Is that _ polite?_"

"She means you'll probably be really popular." Steven bounces his eyebrows in a very (oh, _ no) _ Amethyst-like fashion. "You _ do _ seem really good at getting numbers." 

Amethyst snickers. “Yeahhh _ buddy_.” 

Oh, goodness. Pearl scrubs a hand over her mouth, tempted to fluster. But? Truthfully? They aren’t wrong. The corner of her cheek twitches into a small, pleased smile and her voice lowers in conspiracy: “If someone had told me what they were a few decades ago...”

Both, in unison, bellow “_Whaaaat_?” 

“You mean you’ve been getting them for years? By _ accident_?” Steven slaps his hand against his forehead, doubled over with giggles.

She’s jostled aside by a playful shove from Amethyst. “P, you absolute _ ladykiller._”

“Now _ just _a minute --” 

“Turn of phrase, turn of phrase!” Steven waves her off, still grinning. “But speaking of how you'll look to people… Are these the pictures you’re going to use?” He says it gently, but she can hear the grin behind his hand.

“Why? What’s wrong with them?” The lighting is good. Her expression is clear. Millennia of swordfighting have ensured perfectly steady hands and there is absolutely no blur in any of them. Almost all of them are symmetrical, even. 

“Bro. It’s the same picture.”

Pearl swipes through a number of them at high speed, tilting the phone towards Amethyst to punctuate. “They are all _ clearly _ different pictures. Look! This one’s on the beach.”

“It’s a good pose,” Steven begins, generously, “but the point is to show different sides of yourself.” 

Exactly how many variations can be had at arms length? Pearl frowns. Thus far, the entire experience has mostly been an extended exercise in frowning. “Well… I don’t have any others.” 

Two _ gasps: _ They’re both already digging for their own phones. Amethyst sing-songs, “Oooooh, I got some _ juicy _ones --"

Steven captured Pearl last week when the Dondai’s engine refused to turn over, doubled over beneath the hood with her jacket aside, grease caked along her arms; then on the next one, Pearl’s expression, razor-intent as the claymore in hand as she angles it in the sugary light of her room, guiding Connie’s eye to the more delicate points of the fuller; mostly the stove but Pearl from the neckdown, expertly sautéeing crimini mushrooms for chicken marsala; chin propped on her fist and eyebrow pulled high in mock exasperation during the last boardgame night -- Amethyst had begun finding creatively unhygienic uses for the pieces. 

Then onto Amethyst’s, whose eye proves much more keen for a dramatic flair: Pearl midway through kouchi-gari in a sparring session with Garnet in the Sky Arena, chin tucked and eyes hard as chips of plate armor; at Bismuth’s elbow at the foot of one of the crumbling Caldera temples -- deep in thought, hand to chin -- following the line of Bismuth’s arm as she points out some potential structural hazard; at low tide, alongside Steven in swim trunks, both working to flip the scattered horseshoe crabs stuck belly-up on the beach.

Her phone buzzes in hand as one after another is sent by text. Steven and Amethyst both comfortably talk over one another as they do -- whether recalling other details of the day each photo was taken, or commenting on its prospects as a profile picture. It gives Pearl time to swallow the strange lump that wants to appear in her throat. 

She nearly pulls it off. Instead Amethyst looks over midsentence. “You good?”

“Very good.” Pearl tries for a grin of her own, and looks back down at the phone now quiet in her hand, an entire gallery of wildly contrasting compositions, framings, and palettes staring back at her. “I’ll pick, er -- five?”

Amethyst helps to curate (“Nooonono, keep that one! It shows off your legs!") while Steven shows her the “filters” available. The filter does nothing to change the contents of the image itself -- simply alters the color palette for the most part -- but there is something _ appealing _ about a slight alteration. It brings to mind some of the photos she’s carefully scrolled through already, intrigued, curious, and furtive, almost, before deciding to take the plunge herself. Piercings, intricate tattoos. A whole bouquet of different hair colors, sometimes on the same head. Not as flattering as Bismuth’s style, perhaps, but it’s all _ interesting, _if nothing else.

By the time she manages to begin uploading the final selection, Garnet has joined, legs crossed, arm round the backrest long enough to reach Amethyst. She is utterly silent as she takes her seat. And by now there seems little point in not leaning into the awkwardness, so Pearl doesn’t gripe when Steven tips his head back against Garnet’s chest to report “We’re working on Pearl’s dating profile.” 

“Yes.” There’s a hint of… _ something. _ Smugness, maybe. But she says nothing else. 

Pearl scratches a nonexistent itch on her cheek and fights down a smile.

And then -- ah -- well, she’s committed to the whole thing, isn’t she? To trying. Yes. It’s comforting, how _ not a big deal _it feels: there on the sofa, with Garnet in her preferred spot, and Amethyst and Steven at either hip babbling advice. They manage to both perfectly complement and corroborate the other’s contributions while also conversationally trampling them.

"You should add in that you're a swordfighty type, chicks are into that --” 

“-- and take some personality tests! People love comparing that kind of thing --”

“_ \-- definitely _ lead with coffee dates as a suggestion, so you can dodge food --”

“And once you're there, ask about past relationships if it feels right, but not _ too _ much.”

“Oh yeah yeah yeah, you gotta be like... _ exactly _ a moderate amount of interested.”

Er. Oh. Pearl supposes a prospective date would do the same for her. She cannot help sinking by an inch or two. A thought crawls in before she can avert it: how Rose would respond, seeing Pearl with a human. Perhaps even passing the table on their date. Her hands would clasp, eyes would widen -- she would _ gush _over how nice it was to see Pearl finally reaching back, so many have been interested…

The inside of her form churns, chilled. Body of light notwithstanding, Pearl must endure the dig of unpleasant thoughts as keenly as any organic. It takes a moment to cram the thought to the back of her mind. “What if... _ she_... doesn't want to say?”

“Then that's a baaad sign. Abort!_” _

“Unless,” Steven’s lecture finger goes up, “there's good reason for it.”

“Oh, well fer sher -- I just mean in general.”

What? That's not a helpful distinction. Pearl can feel the knots of confusion on her own face. Are there exact steps? Precise signs for each instance? How complicated could this ritual _ become? _ “This seems… quite a lot to remember.”

“Try not to get ahead of yourself.” Garnet adjusts her glasses. “The first step is to make it clear who you are.”

Hmm.

_ Who I am. _A rather delicate topic to try and reveal to complete strangers in a semi-public forum, and a fraught one for Pearl at the best of times. And in terms that humans could make appropriate sense and use of, in this context. 

“Let’s start with the self-summary,” Steven says.

_ Self-summary. _ A ripple of tension passes as her jaw clenches. What to include? More importantly, what _ not _to include?

“Oooh, _ there’s _a face.” Amethyst sucks her teeth. “Having second thoughts?”

“It’s only… where would I begin…” An exhausted _ huff _ pushes its way out from Pearl’s chest. One hand pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to clear the tension brewing behind her gem. “What human is going to read _ anything _I have to write and understand what it means? There’s no way to give… any kind of accuracy, here --”

“You don’t think everyone else on here has that exact thought?” There’s a tang of indignity in the words. Steven’s gaze narrows by a speck, and his eyebrows curve upward like the top of a question mark, and _ stars_, Pearl sees a split second likeness of a younger Greg. She was on the receiving end of that look many a time. (And even deserved it, on occasion.)

There’s really no comparing the _ complete _ content of Pearl’s experiences with any human’s. But the comparison is valid nonetheless. She nods, a bit sheepish -- “Point taken.” -- and returns to the task.

Deep breath. Shoulders squared. With both done, there’s not much Pearl can’t take on.

_My Self-Summary _  
I am a(n)...  
_Political insurgent, veteran, and survivor. _

Amethyst hoots. “A smidge intense, but I mean. Y’ain’t wrong.”

The back of the couch creaks as Garnet squeezes, gritting her teeth. “Intense. Is _ good_.” 

“Sure,” Steven chuckles, a little uneasily. “But it can alsoooo... be about what you like to do with your time! Like, y'know... hobbies.” 

What does Pearl like doing? It’s strange to think of it in that fashion. That directly. Pearl _ does _ a great deal, and of course she has her preferences. She will even go out of her way during the day to relive a particularly elegant display of swordfighting technique, or leaf through a favorite tome. But to _ identify _those as things she does out of enjoyment rather than some higher purpose feels… uncomfortable. Like a sun: best enjoyed when not studied directly. 

She inhales, quiet. 

“Take your time,” Garnet says. 

Pearl hums; her eyebrows draw in. 

“It doesn’t have to be perfect right away,” Steven soothes. “You can always go back and change it later.”

That helps. What a luxury. Some pressure lifts. She straightens her back again.

_ Caregiver. Collector. Literature enthusiast. Engineer. Defender of the Earth -- _

Amethyst snickers.

“What?” Pearl’s shoulders pinch inward, and she can’t help her voice yanking high into a prickly pitch. “What’s wrong with that?” 

Amethyst does a poor job of covering her mirth -- she succeeds only in transforming it into a snort against Pearl’s shoulder. “Nothing! It’s good stuff.” She flaps her hand, flimsy. “Keep going.”

“There _ is _ nothing wrong with it.” Garnet scrubs a knuckle along the top of Amethyst’s head (“_Hey, c’mon!”). _ “It sounds like Amethyst wouldn’t include it in hers. But right now, we’re talking about yours.” 

Steven tries to draw Pearl’s attention back. “Some people call themselves that, too... just a liiiittle less literally than you mean it.”

Would it confuse those reading? How difficult would it be to explain during a first conversation? Pearl shifts in her seat, face taut with nerves. “Should I take it out?” 

"Well…" Steven turns his chin up, fixing her with a precocious look. “Does it feel important?”

_ Defender of the Earth. _ From nearly the first moment she set foot on this planet. Yes, there is far more to it than that; yes, there were... _ interwoven _ motivations. Of course it doesn’t capture the entirety of what Pearl wanted and why. How tirelessly she pursued it.

_ Defender of the Earth. _

Her lips move, silent. She imagines erasing the phrase and finds that something in her snags as she does. Like deleting a small portion of herself, too. 

“... yes.” It _ is _ important. Then, more certain, “I’m keeping it.”

The writing becomes easier after that. Steven’s style of help is largely generative, with several discrete suggestions and thoughts without much attachment, while Amethyst takes a more exploratory angle, expanding upon Steven’s thoughts with possibilities for rephrasing or improved clarity. 

Garnet says little. Every few minutes, she reaches unnoticed to give Pearl’s shoulder a tender squeeze. 

When confronted with the issue of including or excluding, Pearl makes use of the same technique from before -- listening internally for any strangeness or discomfort. Like reaching into some dark room in herself, and feeling carefully about for its contents.

_ 6 Things I Couldn’t Do Without… A Typical Friday Night… _

“Don’t feel the need to do all of them,” Steven offers, watching Pearl wrinkle her brow over _ Favorite Memory from Childhood. _“It’s better to give really good answers to certain ones.” 

Very well. That makes sense. She _ does _ feel a nibble of annoyance at the prospect of not completing each prompt, but better for Pearl to focus. To specialize! This is about _ strategy! _

_ Who I am. _

The house is steeped in dusk colors by the time she comes to the final prompt. 

_ One Last Important Thing About Me: _

Pearl’s lips purse. There’s much less structure in this one. 

“You can leave it blank,” Steven reminds her.

But… but there’s something else in that dark room. Something that Pearl has brushed past for awhile, now, always shied from. It never felt like _ hers. _But she reaches for it now: allows herself to trace its shape. 

Amethyst is already moving -- sitting upright to stretch, lobbing a question about dinner over at Steven (cracks her knuckles overhead, too) -- he asks something similar of Pearl, and she can feel the moment begin to evaporate --

“Wait.” Garnet. Her hands go to Steven and Amethyst apiece, holding them in place. “Pearl.” 

The screen has gone dark. Pearl cuts a glance at Garnet, and catches Steven’s curious look in her periphery. 

She turns quickly back. When her phone’s screen lights up again, there is a barely perceptible tremor in her hands. One last important thing.

_ I have _

Her eyes close. Waiting for the thing to be snatched from her hands. To be thrust back, hidden somewhere in the dark.

... but it stays. Pearl's eyes open, again. 

One last important thing.

_ I have a son from a previous relationship. _

The cursor on the screen blinks. Blinks. In careful counterpoint with the tick of the clock in the kitchen. The house is darker, sun now at full dusk. Blink.

Pearl wants to look to them -- to any of them -- for a response. For… something. Anything. But she cannot bear to. Instead she stares at the cursor and listens for a protest, or a scoff, or a long, contemptuous _ huhhh? _

But Pearl hears none. Not even breathing.

She wets her lips; returns to typing.

_ His name is Steven. _

Then, more easily: _ I love him more than anything. _

Simple. It seems almost too simple, _ insultingly _ simple, to express so many… critical, central, wrapped-up _ things _ in such a curtailed way. But the words are as certain and natural as summoning her spear. There are not many words within Pearl of which she could say the same. 

A dig at her ribs -- Steven’s elbow -- as he reaches up to wipe at his face. It must not work very well, because next he turns to bury it in Pearl’s neck, and his arms come up to wrap her in a hug. Of course that gets Pearl going, too, and she loops her arm carefully over his sunburnt shoulders to pull him closer -- and Amethyst half-mumbles a curse when she stands upright on the sofa to pull Pearl’s head to her quietly hitching chest.

“Amethyst,” Pearl’s voice is thick, and muffled in Steven’s hair, “Your shoes.”

“You’re such a _ dork_,” she chokes back with a laugh, and holds tighter.

It’s when Garnet’s arms close around them all that Pearl lets the meager remainder of her restraint crumble: lets the tears come as easily as the flood of relief washing through her, shuddery breaths and shaky smile. Stars, she’s crying all over Steven. Holding him this close. So it’s only fair that he cries all over her too. His body runs much warmer than Pearl’s -- most of humanity’s does -- but especially when they embrace, like now, she can feel the many differences between them. He’ll never resemble Pearl in the slightest.

_ That doesn’t matter. _ She kisses the top of his head, squeezing. _ My son. _

The Earth term. It feels good. It feels good, finding new language for loved ones. 

Calming down again takes some time. But they do, and Pearl finds herself still craving confirmation. She steers Steven by his sticky cheek to look her in the eye. “Is it really okay? With you? To… have that in there.” Just to be sure. She needs to be sure.

Steven laughs, hiccups. His eyes look as irritated as his sunburn. “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“Jeez, c’mon.” Amethyst scrubs at her face and grins. “Read the room, P.”

“It’s important.” Garnet flicks the back of her hand beneath her glasses. Oh, Garnet. Pearl’s throat threatens to catch anew. “The people who matter will appreciate it.”

Evidently. Steven resumes his very pointed hugging. Now that the emotion has ebbed a bit, Pearl would really like to clean up the evidence of it _ all over _their clothes, but… later. It’s still an excellent hug.

“Man, though,” Amethyst starts, “I’d love to see how you try and explain the _ rest _ of us.” She sucks in a breath, struck by an idea, and scoots close again to Pearl’s hip. “Oooh, speaking of -- so, for _ Bismuth -- _ ”

* * *

They do their best to be considerate when the others are around. But at the moment? The beach house is theirs. And Pearl is _ comfortable. _She nestles between burly thighs from her seat on the floor, in front of the couch, while Bismuth hunches at the waist and holds the phone where they both can see. Her fingers are too large for the touchscreen so Pearl commandeers scrolling duties. She feels warm, there, so openly luxuriating, and enjoying the buzz of the broad chest along her back as Bismuth reads aloud. 

“Hobbies: cleaning, cooking, subversion and upheaval of authoritarian regimes, astrophysics, aeronautics, ancient weaponry…” She trails off. “Hey, you forgot singing.”

“Ooooh.” _ Tap tap tap. _

"You said I'm in here, too?" There is a cheerful, almost gleeful curiosity to the words -- the openness to novelty characteristic of Bismuth, only grown stronger since her sudden return to a new, ever-changing world.

Pearl hums; she straightens upright a moment, closer to Bismuth’s arm, and turns to brush her lips against the elbow. "There's an expectation of full disclosure of any concurrent relationships. _ Quite _sensible, in my opinion.” 

Not that she’s always thought that way. Early in the rebellion, relation in any form was so _new: _to be freely, dangerously, lavishly _with _one another. There was little free Gem etiquette, as yet, and every second granted under the rebel flag felt fragile as ash. Rare was the chance for details, much less disclosure. Gems grabbed onto any intimacy in reach with both hands. 

Pearl would learn later. Time and time again, as tastes changed over the centuries, she had the opportunity to… to experience, firsthand, how wonderfully and terribly such things could be handled. How gentle one must be.

But Bismuth had no such benefit. No thousands of years of acclimatisation and study and experience, should she have desired it.

But -- but she is here now, most importantly. Solid and real against Pearl’s back, navigating strange new waters with her.

"'I am currently involved in a long-term, highly committed and open relationship with a lovely individual. Amenable to answering relevant inquiries on the matter.' _ Hah!_” The laugh jostles Pearl leftwards. “Like what?"

Pearl reaches up: in this position, she has room to trace the skin surrounding Bismuth’s gem with the back of her hand. Warm. "Amethyst assured me I would receive _ some _… but that I should only answer what feels comfortable."

"Well, I like those 'committed' and 'open' parts.” The sentence curves into a rumble when Pearl’s idle petting brushes over her gem. “And especially the 'lovely.’"

Pearl smiles. Her chin tips back, lazy, gazing up at Bismuth through her lashes. "All very fitting words for you." She might even bat them, just a little. 

And then _ squeaks _ when Bismuth presses a sneaky kiss to her gem: soft warmth flashes through her from the point and she laughs, pleasantly dizzied. The split second of distraction is all Bismuth needs to dangle the phone far outside of reach -- and she loops her other arm round Pearl, pulling her in tight. 

“But still not enough to keep you busy nowadays, huh?” Playful, playful, and earnest, without a hint of the tickling sting of hurt -- rainbow locs tumble over Pearl’s shoulder as she’s peppered with more kisses: to her cheek, chin, nose --

“_Bismuth!” _ Pearl wriggles away, giggling uncontrollably, “When has ‘enough’ _ ever _ been enough?” -- she can feel Bismuth’s grin under her palm as she presses her back. So Bismuth kisses her fingers, instead. Stars. 

“Oh, I see. One of those real _ modern _ pearls -- comes and goes as she pleases.” She sounds quite pleased herself. “Well, just give me a tap when you get bored. You don’t have to look far to find someone who knows her way around an outlaw.”

Pearl hums through a smirk. _ Well. _ “Then I clearly need to work harder to keep you on your toes.”

Bismuth reaches: she aims a cheeky tickle beneath Pearl’s upturned chin, but has no room to do so in the small joint lock Pearl secures over her index finger. Pearl then, thoroughly and meticulously, peppers it with kisses of her own.

Bismuth _ booms _a laugh at that -- it thrums through the floorboards -- and then Pearl is very warmly and comfortably crushed in a hug. There is nothing like being enveloped in a full Bismuth embrace. She takes on the smells of the forge: quiet metal, burnt honey, linseed, smoke so heavy and sweet it must have come from a well-tuned grand piano. There was a time Pearl considered it cloying and effusive, but that was soon followed by finding it a marvelous and grounding presence at her shoulder on the battlefield. It evolved again, not long after -- into a scintillating savor, a gorgeous comfort -- into something she cradled and was cradled by in quiet, hidden places. 

For so…_ so _long, Pearl dared never hope to have it again.

Pearl needs to make sure. Make certain she knows.

“Bismuth.” 

She hears the shift. The hold relaxes, and Pearl rearranges; she half-turns in the loose embrace until they are face-to-face. Broad jaw, bulwark brow. Beautifully stalwart. Bismuth is built to _ build, _and in so many ways emulates the robust structures she is capable of bringing into being. 

But she still needs gentleness. She still _ deserves _gentleness.

“I want you to know… for _ certain… _none of this changes what I feel about you. Or what I want for us.” There’s a pinch around her gem as she frowns. “This doesn’t… it doesn’t mean, as if --”

“I get it.” Quicksilver soft. But quicksilver delicate, too. Pearl sees. Like fragile filigree work to her usual forging, Bismuth holds both, and more. “It doesn’t have anything to do with me, yeah?” She grins but it’s flimsy. “Doesn’t need to.”

_ It’s about Rose, _hangs in the space between them. Moments pass like that. In silence. Underneath its weight.

“I get it,” Bismuth repeats. But she doesn’t; not quite. Pearl can tell. Bismuth doesn’t mind a work in progress. It's a… a _ double-edged sword_, as she described it, once, which Pearl found endlessly charming. _ I get it, _ from Bismuth can mean _ I get it, _ or, more typically, _ I’m working on it. _

“No,” Pearl answers, slow. “No… I don’t think you do.”

It earns a blink. But Bismuth doesn’t balk, or bluster: just raises her eyebrows. Listening.

“Because I don’t either.” The fabric over Bismuth’s thigh takes the brunt of Pearl’s fidgeting. Would that she could tug loose some thread of her thoughts, too. “Not yet.”

“That’s okay.”

“Yes. It’s okay.” It _ is _okay. Yes. “But also, I know it’s…" She wets her lips. Skims a glance at Bismuth’s expression. "... It's not about Rose.”

She waits for the word to… do something. For a storm to pass Bismuth’s expression, or for the room to crack down the middle. Neither happen. Nothing does, in fact. 

Pearl takes in a breath. Then, quiet: “This is about me.”

_ That _ does something: the center line of her form loosens like a lowered fist: like some long-shut tomb, grating open by relic degrees, deep within her chest. It’s as though she’s sprouted another gem there. A soft gasp takes her at the expanse of new… _ space. _Space enough to fit another Pearl. Another dark room. Maybe, this time, one with lights.

She swallows. 

Bismuth watches her, warm but uncomprehending. Oh. Bismuth. For her, their relationship never had pause. She simply awoke five millennia later as though it were the next week.

While Pearl has spent thousands of years waiting. In all senses of the word. And without even realizing she had been. Pearl must not wait on anyone else.

“This is about me,” she whispers. Strange. Strange, to feel so sharply, wonderfully awake in this haze.

A calm fog blankets over them. Neither elect to disrupt it. Pearl leans against the midriff at her right, still half-curled between Bismuth’s thighs, and listens to herself. The faint buzzing from her gem is a bit reminiscent of a bad frequency: something that often registers as nausea, or light-headedness, and requires some groaning and pacing in circles to shake. 

But it isn’t. _ Doesn’t. _ Pearl instead feels pleasantly reserved as she leans and listens. Not as in reticence. _ Reserved. _For Pearl. Pearl, and Pearl alone.

She feels her lips part. No words come to mind, though. Her eyes have listed closed in the fog but they open again. “It’s very new.”

Bismuth’s laugh is soft. “I get new, at least.” When she bends at the waist to take Pearl in a hug again, she brushes a kiss along her brow, her hair. It ruffles; it’s nice. Pearl lets her eyes drift closed again.

When Bismuth murmurs, “Can I pull you up? I’m getting a crick in my back, here...” Pearl wraps arms around her neck, and lets herself be lifted. 

* * *

There are some patterns. 

A flautist from 26 miles away is a Libra cusp, socialist, and self-aligned with the fictional ‘Hawkridge house’ -- similarly to a ballroom dancer who is vegetarian, bisexual, and a type 9 (the peacemaker, ostensibly). More than a few use quotes ranging from the philosophical to the pop cultural. Many use the space to illustrate past hardships, future goals, worst fears, pet peeves, favorite fantasies. There lurks a subset who rely, bafflingly, on the roles they adopt in actions of a prurient nature to convey something about their personal qualities. (And also a multitudinous array of surreal, edited images? Is Pearl _ missing _ something?) Goodness. Some even use the _ four humors_.

More and more, Pearl finds herself returning to her own profile in light of these viewings for tweaks or outright alterations -- for inclusion of some as-yet-unconsidered term. She spends two hours one night messaging a lovely, timid chemist who describes why “they” feels better, how “she” feels like an empty waterglass most of the time: sure it’s got the shape, sure it looks the part, but once it’s at their lips there’s nothing there to drink.

The thought whirls around her head for days. _ She? They? _ She tests each one silently behind her eyes. Pearl can’t say that she feels the same as the chemist about ‘she’ -- it feels as comfortable as anything she’s been called -- but the _ thinking _ about it, the sheer act of consideration… the taking stock of how it feels to have that applied to _ herself _ along with the countless découpage of terms and sounds and phrases -- to sort through the _ ideas _of herself… well. It’s rather like pulling back at last from the page of a long-known, but too closely scrutinized book, to read fluently from its intended range. 

_ Gender: Renegade _ makes an appearance, for a time. Pearl _ still _ feels a wave of self-satisfaction at that one. It’s funny, because gender is -- itself -- something of a nonsensity. 

When Steven peers over her shoulder at her phone screen one morning (“_Are you more just, or merciful?” _ ) he sucks in air and slams his fist on the counter. “Is that a _ personality test? _ Show me what you get!"

(She’s somewhere between INTJ and ISTJ.)

Amethyst helps in her own ways. She assists in decoding some of the more esoteric responses from Pearl’s algorithmic matches (“Oooof, yeah -- _ heeeeella _ messy, they should be doin’ some personal work at the mo’. Bow out of there.”). She also plays a role, though a vastly less helpful one, in decrypting the strings of pictographic messages that are completely devoid of words _. _

(“This one just keeps sending pairs of eyes,” for some reason strikes Amethyst as _ hilarious.) _

The two of them are, by and large, content to leave Pearl to her explorations in peace. At first.

Pearl exits her room one afternoon, flushed and pleased, only to squawk at the discovery that Amethyst _ overheard her talking on the phone from her own room _and of course scurried off to enlist Steven in an ambush. 

He bounces on his heels when he grabs her by the hand, bright-eyed, “What’s her name?”

“It’s that big rugby chick with the nose ring, ain’t it?”

“Are you gonna see her? Do you have a date set up?”

“Puh-_leeease _say she’s got game, we’re not turning you loose to go piddle with some deadweight --”

Garnet swoops in to the rescue. 

“That’s enough of that.” She hoists the both of them bodily, tucking Steven under her arm and Amethyst over her shoulder. Cue much wiggling and protest. 

“_Broooo, c’mooon!_”

“This is for Pearl. Not us.” Her grimace brooks no argument. “She’ll share when and if she feels it’s the right time.”

“We’re just excited,” Steven whines. 

“Yes. But we mustn’t interfere.” Her austere tones don’t waver in the slightest as she adds, “Flirting is extremely serious business.”

The two of them sag with a defeated sigh. 

Pearl titters. “Er... yes.” Ahem. “Thank you, Garnet.”

“Also. Pearl.” The cool gaze levels at her. “There’s been a change in plans. You must clear your schedule for Friday evening.”

“Uh? Oh --” Pearl’s eyes flick upward for a half-moment, considering her agenda. “Oh no -- Steven, was your improv group cancelled?”

“It was not. But you should clear your schedule. And check your messages tomorrow.” Garnet smirks. She _ smirks. _ “And make sure you have a pair of rollerblades.”

Pearl blinks. Her eyes narrow. “... Garnet…” 

Garnet begins a slow but inexorable backward trajectory toward the front door, still laden down with her now giggling charges.

“_Garnet wait what did you see --” _

Continued perusal of the app provides Pearl with a rousing discussion on the validity of violence as revolutionary praxis that results in being quote-unquote _blocked,_ and the remaining vitriol leads to her sizzling with restlessness that leads to an ardent sparring session that concludes with her and Bismuth splayed on the beach, comfortably battered and breathless, talking excitedly over each other about favorite tactics -- about the now -- about the orchard of possibilities, all between hungry kisses.

_ Like with Rose. _ The thought smuggles in through the moonlight on Bismuth’s skin. Through the breath on Pearl’s cheek as she pulls back from a kiss. _ And here you are all over again, you silly thing. _

A wave rolls in nearly to their feet. The sound hushes Pearl midsentence.

She waits for the thought to dig -- to lance bloodless through the soft sincerity she's felt in herself of late. To drain some of the fledgling warmth she’s been nursing for weeks, or to crush closed that newfound space in her chest that’s made so much _ room. _

Pearl waits. 

And when she’s finished waiting, the wave has rolled back out again. No warmth taken. No space hemmed in. No icy spike, driving her back. The thought comes and the thought goes. Just as easy as the wave. 

And… stars. When she imagines the thought returning, Pearl looks for fear in herself and finds none.

Let it. Let it come back. As many times as it likes, and Pearl will let it roll off all over again. If the sea doesn’t mind, even after thousands of years, why should she? 

“Pearl?” Bismuth is watching her carefully. She’s taken in stride the frequent pauses of the past few weeks, and the many moments of quiet. But now her eyebrows furrow inward and without much thought Pearl leans up to kiss them smooth. 

Bismuth splutters _bluh! _and it’s giddying: Pearl laughs behind her hand, softly at first, then turns and leans until she’s laughing into Bismuth’s side -- and ignores _all_ demands to be let in on the joke, stars -- Bismuth pulls, rolling Pearl on top -- and the laughter must be _infectious _\-- 

_ I’m here, and I'm grateful. _

**Author's Note:**

> Pearl and Bismuth are the ultimate like handsy rough house-y competitive flirty type couple thats ALSO very soft (is it a Mr and Mrs Smith type thing? I have never seen Mr and Mrs Smith)
> 
> Pearl absolutely does wordscapes holy shit


End file.
